


uh huh, honey

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Biting, Blow Jobs, Doggy Style, Friends With Benefits, Hair-pulling, Implied Shiro/Allura - Freeform, M/M, Missionary Position, Multiple Orgasms, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Keith knows he’s doomed the moment Lance rests his arm on the wall behind him, leans a little closer and asks what such a pretty face is doing in a place like this: a fraternity house neither of them even go to. Keith stares up into pretty blue eyes and a bright smile that promises a whole world of fun and tells him, “Waiting for you to get me a drink.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> five things: 
> 
> \- shiro and keith are half-brothers  
> \- lance has adhd  
> \- i didn't have time to read this through to feel free to point out any typos etc.  
> \- this was a coping mechanism and purely indulgent  
> \- make america queer again.

Somewhere between Keith’s fifth shot and the moment Shiro spots Allura and leaves him--  _ sans _ car-keys, that  _ fucker _ \-- Lance eyes him from the other side of the room and clicks his fingers in his general direction. Keith frowns and tells himself he’s  _ not _ blushing, but it’s hopeless: Lance looks good, and he swings those slim hips and broad, strong shoulders as he walks in a determined, straight line towards him. He’s wearing a white t-shirt that’s ever-so-slightly too small for him-- it rides up to expose his hip-bone and is tight around his chest-- and skinny jeans and shoes that make him  _ even  _ taller. A hoodie is wrapped around his hips: bright blue, as expected. 

Blue is Lance’s favourite colour. That’s just one of the many things Keith’s picked up on in the year they’ve sat next to each other in physics class. 

Keith knows he’s doomed the moment Lance rests his arm on the wall behind him, leans a little closer and asks what such a pretty face is doing in a place like this: a fraternity house neither of them even  _ go  _ to. Keith stares up into pretty blue eyes and a bright smile that promises a whole world of fun and tells him, “Waiting for you to get me a drink.”

Lance throws his head back and laughs. It shakes his entire body and bears his neck, and  _ God _ , he’s gorgeous. He nods and asks Keith what he wants-- whiskey-cola-- and leaves, then comes back with a red Solo cup in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. 

“Want to go somewhere more quiet?” Lance asks him. Keith sips at his drink-- it’s surprisingly weak, as though Lance prefers him sober-- and nods. Lance licks his lips and ducks his head, turning and leading Keith to the back of the house. There’s a porch outside. Keith wonders how Lance knew that. 

It’s dark, and it’s sort of cold. Lance huffs and sits down on the wooden floor. Keith sits down next to him and wraps his arms around himself, shivering once. Lance is taking a sip of his drink-- full lips wrapped around the neck of a bottle-- when he glances at Keith with wide eyes. 

“Sorry,” Lance says, “Are you cold?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

Lance grins as if he’s just won a million dollars.

“Here,” he says. He unties his hoodie and hands it to Keith. 

Keith holds it in his hands, as though he weren’t sure what to do with it.

“Oh,” he tells him. It sounds dumb.

“‘m not cold,” Lance explains, “And you’re nothing but meat and bones.”

Lance’s eyes are bright, and as some people stumble onto the porch and walk past them to do  _ God-knows-what _ in the bushes, Keith notices for the first time how  _ close  _ they were. The sides of their bodies touches from ankle to shoulder. Lance  _ was _ warm. Keith could feel it. 

“Thanks,” Keith says as he shrugs it on. His hair is mussed as he sticks his head through the hole, and it’s too long on his arms and too large at the shoulders. It smells like vanilla: like  _ Lance _ . Keith’s sure it’s not the alcohol that’s making his head spin. 

“Better?” Lance asks. He tilts his head and smiles at Keith as though Keith were the very last of his wishes to come true.

“Yeah.”

“I mean,” Lance starts. He sits a little straighter, and scratches at his cheek. “If you’re-- if you’re still cold, we can-- uh, we  _ could…  _ I live pretty close. We could hang out in my dorm.”

Keith licks his lips. 

“If you want to,” Lance adds. His skin is dusted with a peachy pink, like he’d just realised what it  _ sounded _ like he was asking.

Keith doesn’t mind that.

“Sure,” Keith says, “Shiro’s gone somewhere, and-- he’s got the keys, so-- I’m kind of stuck here.”

Lance’s smile wavers ever so slightly: just once.

“Oh,” Lance says, “So… you’re… you came-- together?”

He scratches the back of his neck.

Keith raises his cup to his lips and bites at it as he takes a large gulp. The burn of whiskey calms him, somewhat. It’s familiar, though the proximity of Lance makes his stomach turn with nervousness. His fingers itch for a cigarette, but he doesn’t know what Lance would think of him if he’d spoke next to him: it wouldn’t be worth Lance’s disgust and disapproval. 

“I-- I mean, yeah, but-- uh-- he’s gone somewhere with  _ Allura _ . It’s-- not like that. We’re half-brothers. You know that, right?” 

“Oh, no I-- I didn’t, that’s--  _ woo _ , that makes sense.” He gives a dry half-laugh. “I always-- sort of-- wow, this is  _ weird _ . I always thought you were dating.”

Keith chokes on his drink. 

“Jesus,  _ fuck _ \--”

“Yeah, sorry. I assumed you were highschool sweethearts, ‘cause I knew you were from the same town and  _ really _ gay, and you don’t look  _ that _ similar, so… sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s fine: happens all the time,” Keith lies. 

Lance nods, eyes wide and smile trembling.

It’s silent, for a moment. Then, Keith hears it: moans from the nearby foliage. Keith snorts. His humour is bad, like that. 

“ _ Jesus _ : do you…,” Lance says. His face is bright red. “I--  _ sorry--  _ you want to get going, then?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Keith isn’t sure why Lance apologised. It’s endearing, regardless, and he finds himself ducking his head into the hoodie and leaving his cup on the porch barrister. Lance sticks one hand into the pocket of his jeans, and bites his lower lip. As Keith follows him across the lawn and walks beside him on the pavement, his fingers twitch: from the cold, Keith tells himself.  

Keith swallows thickly. His own are covered to the knuckle by Lance’s sweatshirt, and itch to lace with Lance’s. He’s been pining for a goddamn  _ year _ . 

It’s a natural reaction. Lance is an enigma, a hybrid of a man who can’t contain himself: he’s threatening to boil over any moment. Keith’s like that, too, which is why-- as he’s told Shiro a thousand times-- he’ll never make a move, or never even try to imagine them dating: in a relationship, something long-lasting. Permanence wasn’t Keith’s strong suit. 

 

Lance’s place is close: nestled in an apartment-like complex of dorms on campus. Keith lives nearby, but he doesn’t tell Lance that: all he wants to do is follow him home and hold him close, lace their fingers together and listen to Lance whisper all sorts of nasty, dirty things. 

“So,” Lance says as he pushes the door open, “Here we go. This is it.”

He lets Keith step inside first. 

The room is the same size as his and has the same layout: a sink in the corner, a desk and a bed. Lance’s is simply full of more  _ stuff _ . They’re photographs on the wall, and post-its stuck on the desk, beside textbooks and a laptop and empty cans of Red-Bull. Orange pill bottles of prescription drugs lie beside a rosary on Lance’s beside table. Something strange boils in Keith’s stomach at the sight: it makes him want to hold Lance and never let go. 

“Make yourself at home,” Lance says. He toes off his shoes, and Keith mimics his motion, then follows him to sit on his bed: a top of stormtrooper bedsheets. Keith lets his palm soothe over the pattern.

“Sorry,” Lance starts, “I-- my mom-- I don’t  _ really _ like Star Wars that much, she--  _ uh--  _ packed that for me: unless you’re into that.”

Lance scratches his cheek and shifts. His leg bounces impatiently. 

Keith inches closer, and tilts his head.

“And what if I am?”

Lance wheezes.

“ _ Shit _ ,” he manages, clutching his chest, “Marry me.”

Keith laughs. 

“That’s-- how about we take things slow, for now?” he says, letting his fingers trail over the inside of Lance’s wrist. 

Lance exhales a nervous chuckle.

“I--  _ uh _ \-- how… how slow is  _ slow _ ?” 

Their faces are close: dangerously so. Keith can feel Lance’s hot breath fan over his cheeks. They’re no takebacks anymore. 

“Depends,” Keith murmurs. He lets his eyelids flutter half-shut, and Lance’s eyes dart down to his lips, staring at the with an open mouth before finally--  _ finally _ \-- his eyes flutter shut, and cups Keith face and kisses him. 

Keith  _ should  _ be taken aback, or at least surprised, but it feels like everything he’s ever done in his life has led to this: kissing a starry-eyed boy in a dorm room that smells like pizza, a top of a bed that’s definitely too small for Lance’s lanky and long body. 

Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s neck and pull him down to the mattress. He opens his mouth as Lance licks at his lips and sighs. Lance is warm, and a little clumsy as he perches his arms on either side of Keith’s head. He manages to tangle his fingers in Keith’s hair, toying with the ends whilst he licks at the roof of Keith’s mouth. 

Keith runs his palms over Lance’s chest: down to his navel, then up once more before growing impatient and slipping his hands underneath his shirt, scratching at hot, sun-kissed skin. Lance pulls away to tug his shirt off. He tosses it in a corner and sits up a little, biting and licking at his lower lip nervously. He’s watching him, Keith notices. 

“This,” wheezes Lance, “Is the best fucking night of my life--  _ Jesus Christ _ \--”

Then they’re kissing again, and honestly, Keith can’t complain: he doesn’t complain when Lance bites and nips along his throat, tells him to leave his hoodie on--  _ looks good on you _ , he tells him in a hot breath against the shell of his ear,  _ looks so fucking good on you, babe _ \-- and rolls their hips together. 

Keith’s always been more of a  _ act first, think later _ kind of guy, anyway, which is why he decides to pull his jeans and underwear off, and let Lance do the same. Then they’re both naked-- Keith had pulled Lance’s sweatshirt off, it was  _ searing--  _ and  _ God,  _ Keith can’t believe this is happening: Lance is beautiful and naked and sitting right in between his thighs.

Keith lets his hands wander down Lance’s chest. His skin is warm and soft, and there’re a few scars and bruises as he scratches his nails down Lance’s pectorals before running his fingers down his arms-- curling them around flexed biceps-- and wrists. 

Keith breathes in, Lance trembles a little above him and exhales a shuddering sigh, and then, it begins; Keith reaches up and kisses Lance’s jaw line, where the sharp contours meet the neck. Keith bites down, hard, and Lance gasps.

“You like that?” murmurs Keith. 

“Huh?” mouths Lance. He sounds choked up.

“Do you like that? Biting?” Keith repeats. 

Lance licks his lips. His gaze flickers to the side, and he grins.

“Yeah,” he says, “I like-- I like the marks.”

Keith leans in again-- intuitively-- and bites down on Lance’s throat. He sucks and nips up along it and  _ feels  _ Lance moan above him before biting Lance’s lower lip. Lance groans and runs his fingers through Keith’s hair, scratching and pulling at the nape. Keith lets his eyes close as Lance licks at the roof of his mouth. 

It feels like Lance wants to swallow him whole; he presses his body closer to him, dominating him entirely. A moan escapes from Keith’s throat. 

When Lance lifts his head and parts their lips, Keith’s eyes open; Lance’s mouth is swollen and his face is red, chest heaving with exertion. His eyes are bright and glossed over. He’s gorgeous.

Lance shifts. He lifts Keith’s knees and hooks them around his waist-- Keith clamps down tightly-- and roams his palms-- they’re so warm; so  _ warm _ \-- over Keith’s hips, underneath his sweatshirt. He sits up a little and spreads his fingers over Keith’s lower abdomen, stares down at Keith and licks his lips as though Keith were his next meal. Keith grinds his teeth together and throws his head back, baring his neck. Lance complies; he cups the back of Keith’s head and brushes his thumb against his jaw before kissing and biting down Keith’s throat. 

Keith swears he’s not breathing as he feels Lance’s cock rub against his. Lance groans against his ear, breath hot and heavy, as he presses closer. Their chests are touching. Keith can feel every tiny in- and exhale of Lance’s. Lance wraps his fingers around their cocks. They’re leaking and burning hot, and Keith can’t help but gasp like a dying man. Lance doesn’t sound much better. He’s shaking, and heaving into Keith’s ear. 

Keith’s turns his head and grabs Lance’s shoulder, pushing him up. He digs his nails into Lance’s upper arms-- into that bronze, soft and glistening flesh-- and scratches down them. Lance’s eyes flutter. He rests his forehead against Keith’s, breath fanning out over Keith’s mouth, hot and wet. His lower abdomen muscles quiver and tighten and he thrusts against Keith, his chest is heaving, and Keith  _ wants _ .

“Fuck,” Keith rasps.

“What?” Lance asks.

“Fuck-- fuck me. I want you to fuck me, or-- finger me, something; anything.”

Keith’s vision is blurred, but he can hear Lance’s breath halt in his throat before groaning, and he can feel Lance’s mouth on his as Lance sticks out an arm to grab some lube. Keith watches Lance hold the bottle, then open it. He pours it over his fingers, rubs them together, and glances over to Keith. He’s got that wicked smile over his lips, again; the kind that promises a world of fun if, Keith allows it to, and Keith  _ does _ . His body aches. He spreads his legs a little wider. 

Lance slides a palm over the length of Keith’s cock, down to the cleft of his ass, and Keith turns his head to the side and has to bite the inside of his mouth of keep himself from moaning. His hips twitch, and he feels Lance grin against his neck. The tip of Lance’s finger presses against his entrance before slipping inside. Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s shoulders and digs his nails into the skin there. He’s holding onto him for dear life.

Lance laughs breathlessly. 

“Jesus,” he awes, “You’re-- you’re so  _ tight _ .”

Keith whines at the back of his throat. His spine arches as Lance pushes that finger in further, twisting it and hooking it.

“You’re so tight,” Lance pants, “Feels so  _ good _ , baby; can’t wait to be inside you.”

A droplet of sweat slides from Lance’s temple down his cheek, travelling along his neck and chest. Keith follows it with hooded, glazed eyes. He swallows thickly, and breathes harshly through parted, swollen-red lips. 

Lance grins-- showing off brilliantly white canines-- and thrusts his finger. Keith falls apart. He bites his lip, swallowing thick moans as Lance slides in a second finger, hooking them. The room fills with obscene wet noises, but Keith can’t really hear anything other than Lance’s harsh breaths and the ringing of his own ears. 

It’s warm. Their bodies are pressed up impossibly close, and Keith feels his entire being burn up as Lance licks his lips. He makes a show of it, trailing his pink tongue along the rim of his mouth. 

“I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own goddamn name,” he promises, and Keith is  _ gone _ . He throws his head back into the pillow, legs trembling, and chokes out Lance’s name as Lance pushes a third finger inside of him, thrusting at that perfect angle. 

“Fuck,” Keith groans. He exhales a trembling breath as Lance kisses along his throat, again. “C’mon,” Keith manages, “I-- stick it in me.”

Lance pauses, for a moment. He laughs--  _ laughs _ \-- into Keith’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he says as he straightens his spine. He’s smiling. “Yeah, I-- sure.”

Lance reaches to his nightstand to grab a condom. His torso is stretched as he does, and Keith can’t help but lick his lips and run a hand through his hair, pulling it back. Lance is gorgeous. 

He returns soon enough, with a condom slipped on and lube spread over him. He settles himself between Keith’s legs, lifts Keith’s knees against the inside of his elbows and tugs Keith towards him. There’s  _ power  _ in those smooth arms of his, and Keith berates himself for not noticing it earlier; it’s raw and insanely erotic. Keith can’t help but moan quietly, something that could have been Lance’s name. 

“How d’you want it?” Lance asks--  _ had his voice always been this deep? _

Keith swallows thickly.

“Like this,” he says, and if that’s weird, he doesn’t care, and neither does Lance. Lance simply lifts one shoulder, tilts his head to the side and musters Keith, as though he were sizing him up.

“Cool,” he says, and then he aligns himself. His fingers are still inside of Keith, though they’re gone soon enough as with a single, smooth movement, Lance pushes himself inside of Keith.

Keith feels like he’s drowning. His mouth is open, desperately trying to inhale ragged, broken breaths of air, and Lance is panting, too. His eyelashes flutter as he rolls his fingers against Keith’s hips before seizing forward and guiding his cock all the way into Keith. 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Lance hisses, “Feels-- amazing; you’re amazing, Keith.”

Keith moans. He digs the heels of his feet into the small of Lance’s back, forcing him to push an impossible fraction of an inch deeper inside of him. Lance rolls his hips, and Keith can’t help but drag his nails down Lance’s back. He leaves jagged red marks on Lance’s impeccable skin, which Keith almost berates himself for, but the guttural moan Lance makes at the sensation is worth it. 

“Fuck me,” Keith tells him, and Lance--  _ bless him _ \-- finally,  _ finally _ moves the way Keith wants him to. 

He pulls out of Keith, then thrusts into him again, and Keith’s body quakes. His mouth is open, and he’s not surprised if he’d screamed. Lance groans into his ear, sobs, and his hold on Keith’s knees tightens, then he trails his palms down Keith’s thighs. He exhales a shuddering breath as he pushes into Keith and rolls his hips. 

It feels so goddamn  _ good--  _ the way Lance is pressed close to him, how deep he’s inside of Keith-- that Keith bites into Lance’s shoulder, hard. He can taste blood, and it really,  _ really _ shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. Keith lathes his tongue over the spot, bathed Lance’s sweating skin with his lips and spit before travelling up his throat to lick the shell of his ear, tugging at its lobe with his teeth. 

Lance’s breathing comes uneven as he picks up a rhythm; it’s steady, slow and deep and  _ hard _ . It’s just the way Keith likes it, and Keith can only mouth breathless words of praise, scratching every inch of skin he can reach.

Lance tugs on Keith’s knees, forcing him closer to him. The angle is impossibly better; Lance is closer, he’s thrusting harder and pressing up as deep as he could bury himself. The position is near suffocating. Keith grabs a fist of Lance’s hair-- Lance moans at that-- and holds onto it for dear life as Lance thrusts into him, bows over him. Lance is sweating, groaning, and every single one of Keith’s fantasies come alive. 

“I could fuck you all day,” Lance tells him. His words are raw; he’s starving.

Keith gasps and lifts a hand to bite at his knuckle, turns his head. His face is surely bright red.

Lance pushes his hand away, laces their fingers together. He pushes his palm against Keith’s, pinning it down against the mattress. 

“C’mon,” he whispers, “Let me hear you, baby.”

He wraps long, skinny fingers around Keith’s cock, fisting it tightly. He slips his tongue into Keith’s mouth the moment Keith opens it to groan, and Keith might’ve just let the hold in Lance’s hair relax at the sensation, combing through it instead of tugging. 

Keith writhes underneath him, though Lance doesn’t stop pulling his cock until Keith trembles and tightens around him. He shoots white ribbons over his abdomen, shakes and stares up at the ceiling. Lance is looking at him, though. He can feel it: the intensity of his gaze, and  _ fuck _ , those eyes. Lance sits back on his haunches as Keith blinks at him. He’s sated and heaving.

Lance smears his hand through the come on Keith’s stomach, tracing invisible words on his skin before raising his hand and tangling his fingers in Keith’s hair. 

Keith  _ should _ have been disgusted, though all he manages is to gape at Lance as he strokes his thumb against Keith’s cheek before brushing his fingers against Keith’s stomach once more. Keith watches Lance lift his hand and suck his fingers into his own mouth. He’s tasting Keith’s come. A drop drizzles slowly over his chin. He grins, removes his fingers to lick them clean. 

“You-- you haven’t come yet,” Keith manages.

“Nope,” Lance whispers, “Turn over: it’ll feel good, promise.”

Keith furrows his brow. He sighs and shifts: ass in the air, face down. Lance presses into him once more, and Keith’s shaking all over as Lance thrusts harshly into him. He’s gasping against Keith’s shoulder, scraping his teeth over his skin as he pulls out almost completely only to thrust back in. Keith burrows his head against his arms, sobs into the pillow and lets his fingers scramble to find some sort of hold against the bedsheets. He feels Lance’s nails dig into his hips. 

“God,” Lance gasps, “ _ God-- _ ”

He becomes more and more incoherent with each thrust, groaning syllables that could’ve been Keith’s name, once, before grasping Keith’s hips and grounding into them so hard Keith swears he sees stars, and then-- 

Lance tangles his fingers in Keith’s hair and pulls his head up. His back bows, and Keith tightens around him. Lance rolls his hips, and Keith  _ keens  _ before shaking all over as he comes again.

Lance breathes raggedly against Keith’s shoulder blades, mouth open against his skin.

“ _ Keith _ ,” he exhales, and with a final thrust, his body tightens behind Keith and comes inside of Keith, pulsing and trembling. 

Slowly and after a long while, Lance pulls away and Keith rolls around again, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling with an arm above his head. He’s panting. Lance rests his head on Keith’s stomach, after throwing the condom away, hands tucked underneath his chin. It’s warm underneath the bedsheets. Lance stares at Keith in a curious manner with wide eyes full of wonder,  _ really _ stares at him as if he wanted to memorise him.

“Yup,” he decides after a moment.

“What?” asks Keith.

Lance rubs at his eye, yawning and flopping down beside him.

“Best night of my life,” he tells Keith. 

 

The next thing Keith knows, it’s morning. The bedsheets pooled around his hips aren’t his, and there’s a tan arm wrapped around his waist. 

_ God _ , he’s never drinking again. 

He’ll probably break that promise as soon as he whines to Shiro about this. 

Right now, though, all he can do is dig his teeth into his lower lip and close his eyes and  _ hope to God _ Lance will speak to him after this: an almost-drunk one-night stand. Keith swears softly. 

“G’morning,” Lance tells him. His voice is rough, and his hair is mussed as he lifts his head from the pillows. All Keith can do is stare: he’s painfully attractive and  _ wonderful _ , and there’s an array of dark-red hickeys around his neck and down his chest. Scratch marks dust along toned around. 

Keith makes a choked noise. Lance looks like he’d been  _ mauled _ . 

“What?” Lance says. He raises an eyebrow and sounds absolutely annoyed. 

“I-- you-- I’m  _ sorry _ .”

Keith hands him his phone-- swipes the bottom right corner to open the front camera-- and hands it to Lance. Lance takes it, and frowns before his expression morphs into sheer surprise, then briefly horror before something else entirely: his mouth contorts into a lopsided grin as he touches gingerly at a bitemark on the juncture at his shoulder.

“Damn,” Lance says, “That good, huh?”

Keith’s throat is dry.

“I-- uh… well, I mean--  _ yeah _ .”

Lance throws his phone across the mattress and tackles him. Warm arms circle around Keith’s middle, and there’s an even warmer-- searing, even-- mouth on his before Keith can even begin to object. 

He doesn’t, regardless. He  _ could  _ have, but he doesn’t. All he could do was melt underneath Lance’s lips and tongue and tangle their bare legs together. 

 

Keith doesn’t leave Lance’s dorm that day: they end up eating Pop-Tarts and Lance blows him while they’re toasting, and ordering Chinese food for dinner-- lunch seemed pointless when you wake up at one-- before watching  _ Star Wars _ together on Lance’s loud laptop.

_ I love you _ , Leia tells Han. 

_ I know _ , Han replies.

Keith licks a long stripe from Lance’s collarbone to his jawline as he jerks him off underneath stormtrooper bedsheets. 

 

“Can I… can I have your number?” Lance wheezes.

“Yeah,” Keith breathes in the gap between his lips, “zero, zero--  _ fuck, there _ \-- six, one, three--  _ God, Lance _ \--”

Lance nods and scrambles for his phone. His fingers are shaking, though he types in the digits regardless, as though Keith  _ weren’t _ riding him like a goddamn showpony. 

“Eight, five, seven--  _ ah--  _ nine.”

“Great, thanks,” Lance says with a shaking voice. He tosses his phone over his shoulder-- he’d named him  _ keithy baby <3 <3 _ , Keith notices-- and wraps his arms around him, thrusts upwards with a groan, holding onto Keith with a firm grip. 

Keith grits his teeth and moans. He feels safe. Lance is warm, and his skin is soft underneath his rough fingertips. 

He could get used to this, Keith thinks. 

 

“You can’t get used to this,” Shiro tells him, “You absolutely, one-hundred-percent,  _ cannot _ get used to this.”

Keith lets his elbows slide against the countertop. Shiro writes a name-- Janet-- on a plastic cup. It’s quiet in the boba shop Shiro works half-time-- it’s past the break time rush hour-- and Shiro arches an eyebrow in that protective manner of his. 

“Whatever,” Keith murmurs. 

“ _ Keith _ .”

“ _ What _ ?”

“You need to be responsible. You’ve been pining after this guy for a year, and I just-- I want this to be a happy, healthy and fulfilling relationship and not some--- some….”

“You can say it,” Keith tells him.

“I’m not gonna say it!”

“ _ Say it _ .”

“Fine! I don’t want you to be  _ fuckbuddies  _ with him!”

Shiro sticks a straw into Janet’s drink. Keith chews on his own.

“Why?” he states.

“Because I said so: here you go. Have a nice day!” he tells Janet. Janet nods, and turns on her heel to leave.

“That’s not a reason,” Keith says.

“It is. I’m the oldest. This is  _ wisdom _ . You know Lance sleeps around. He’s a great guy, but he’d break your heart, Keith,” Shiro says. His voice is soft. 

“Whatever,” Keith repeats, “You don’t know shit.”

 

That night, Lance texts him.

_ whats your favourite colour?  _

then: 

_ mines red _

 

Keith doesn’t reply for two hours, until he types:  _ blue _ .

_ cool _ \-- says Lance--  _ when are you free? i want to see u again _

Keith lets his phone fall against his face. 

He’s doomed. 

 

They meet again in lecture, the next day. It’s unavoidable: both of them share multiple classes, and it seems that Lance refuses to move seats in their physics seminar. 

“Hey,” Lance says. 

Keith’s heart is a hummingbird trapped in his chest. 

“Hey,” he echoes. 

Lance tucks a strand of hair behind Keith’s ear. Keith can’t breathe.

“D’you-- are you doing anything after this?” Lance asks in a low voice.

“Not really,” Keith replies.

“Cool-- that’s cool,” says Lance, “Are you-- you should come over. I’ve got half a bottle of wine and  _ The Force Awakens _ .”

Keith feels all the oxygen he’s held in his lungs leave him.

“Okay,” he says, “Okay, yeah-- sure.”

 

They finish the bottle and  _ The Force Awakens _ , as well as half a season of  _ F.R.I.E.N.D.S. _ , because Lance’s laugh is beautiful, and Keith can’t bring himself to leave. They’re huddled together underneath Lance’s snuggie-- a  _ goddamn snuggie _ \-- and Lance is gorgeous, and  _ so damn close _ to Keith it’s dizzying. It’s intoxicating. 

“It’s late,” Keith says as the credits roll. His head feels light: he’s so close to Lance he could count his eyelashes. “I should-- I should probably--”

Lance grabs his chin and kisses him: shifts his lips against Keith’s, licks at the seam. His breath is coming out fast and hot. Keith stops breathing entirely. 

“Sorry--” Lance stammers, “I just-- I figured since we-- and you---”

Keith doesn’t answer. His throat is too dry to speak, then a moment later he manages a weak--

“Oh,  _ shit _ .”

Keith leans in and braces a hand against Lance’s waist, raises his other to press against his cheek. Lance’s face is warm and his skin is soft, and his mouth is  _ seering _ : against Keith’s own, then his neck. Keith can’t help but gasp and whimper. 

“Gorgeous,” Lance groans, “ _ So-- _ you’re so fucking gorgeous--”

Lance trails kisses down Keith’s throat. Keith swallows thickly and grasps helplessly at Lance’s shirt. He’s pushed back against the wall, now, half sitting-up as Lance crawls between his legs, pushing his thighs open. 

Keith can pinpoint the moment his self-control cracks. 

Lance hooks his fingers into the waistband of Keith’s sweatpants and takes his cock out. He thumbs at the head and sinks to his knees. Keith raises a hand to cover his mouth and muffle an embarrassingly rattling moan, watches the arch of Lance’s back. 

“Shit,” Keith says. His voice cracks, and he tilts his head back. It comes into contact with the wall behind him. 

“Hey,” Lance murmurs, “Look at me: Keith, look at me, baby.”

Keith flutters his eyes open. They’re blown wide and glossed over, and Lance doesn’t look any better: he looks wrecked, flushed and breathing hard. His lips are red, and he’s smiling as if he’d won a marathon. 

“Look at what you’ve done to me.”

Keith groans lowly and bites at his knuckles, and Lance licks along his teeth like he’s some dangerous animal, then lowers his head. He tugs Keith’s sweats down, then trails his lips along Keith’s hipbones, down to his inner thighs. It’s hot-- there’s incredible heat between them-- and it feels like every exhale of Keith’s should produce vapour. He can feel Lance’s breath against his skin. Heat pools in his stomach. 

He moans embarrassingly loud. 

Lance has his mouth on him: licks and sucks, wraps his fingers around him loosely. It’s almost overwhelming. Keith can’t help but buck forward and arch his spine. His toes curl, and then--

Lance looks up at him. His knees shake, he tugs at Lance’s hair and comes then and there. 

Lance swallows every last drop. As Keith gasps uneven and rapid breaths, runs a hand down the side of his face nervously, Lance licks his lips and grins. He’s perched before Lance on his knees, thighs spread and back straight. 

Keith can’t help but cup Lance’s face and kiss him. He can taste himself on his tongue: it’s bitter and  _ should  _ be disgusting, but it’s  _ Lance _ and Keith can’t help but pull at Lance’s hair. 

Lance sits himself in Keith’s lap, rolls his hips against him. He’s only wearing his boxers, and  _ oh _ \-- Lance is rock hard.  

“C’mon, baby,” Lance breathes against Keith’s lower lip, “Take care of me.”

Keith reaches a hand down between them and cups Lance’s arousal, snakes his other hand to knead Lance’s ass. 

“Fuck,” gasps Lance, “God-- you’re so hot-- you’re so  _ hot _ \-- amazing,  _ Jesus Christ _ \--”

“Yeah,” Keith says lowly, “I know.”

“ _ Keith-- _ ” Lance sighs. His back bows, and he comes, spilling inside his underwear. He shakes in Keith’s arms before shifting, reaching behind him to grab some tissues. He passes Keith some, and wipes himself down with a grimace before removing himself from Keith’s lap and standing. He pulls his underwear off and stumbles to grab a different pair.

Keith rests his head against the wall. He whistles at the sight. 

Lance glances over his shoulder as he tugs them on, grinning viciously. In a flurry, he climbs over Keith and drapes himself-- all one-hundred-and-ninety-seven centimetres of Lance-- over Keith’s body.

“You’re staying,” Lance announces. Keith snorts, and wraps his arms around Lance’s shoulders. 

“Okay,” Keith says. It comes out softer than expected. 

Lance lifts his head and smiles. There’s something different about it: it’s softer.

Keith’s heart clenches in his chest: he’s falling hard and fast. 

 

It’s only later, after Keith’s lying next to Lance on the bed underneath stormtrooper bedsheets and blinking at the rosary, that Keith realises his predicament. He’s had Lance between his legs  _ again _ doing all sorts of fun tricks and  _ fuck him _ if it wasn’t exactly as amazing as the first time: maybe even better, Keith thinks. He didn’t think that was possible, but it  _ was _ .

“Am I drunk?” he asks himself in a hushed whisper. 

Lance exhales a soft snore beside him. Keith rolls on his side, and rests his chin on his chest: watches the flutter of his eyelashes, and eyes the ski-slope of his nose. There’s got to be a double-meaning to this, somehow. 

He bites his throat: that wakes Lance up quickly. 

“Am I drunk?” he asks him. Lance opens his mouth and tilts his head, staring and squinting at Keith as though he’d grown an extra head. 

“Keith, what the  _ fuck _ ?” Lance says. His voice is quiet. “How-- how the  _ fuck _ am I supposed to know? Fuck,  _ shit--  _ are you?”

Keith pouts. Lance gnaws at his lower lip, looking down at Keith in worry. He shifts: wraps his arms tighter around Keith. 

“No-- I-- I just--- I liked.  _ I liked that _ ,” Keith whispers. 

Lance’s lips stretch into a gorgeous smile: slowly, and then all at once. His fingers play with the ends of Keith’s hair.

“Me too.”

 

It becomes a regular thing: Keith shows up at Lance’s almost every single week. 

“Hey,” Keith says, closing and locking the door behind him. 

Lance looks effortlessly beautiful in a sweatshirt and jeans, and anything else Keith planned on saying dies in the back of his throat. 

“Hey,” Lance echoes. He’s smiling easily. The window’s tilted open, and there’s an event on campus: loud, low bass-filled music fills Lance’s room. 

Keith crosses the room in three strides, pushes Lance onto the bed-- on top of stormtroopers and underneath glow-in-the-dark constellations-- and----

“Oh,  _ fuck _ \--” Lance groans. They’re naked: Keith underneath him, back arched and clawing at the bedsheets: just like the first time.“ _ Jesus _ , how are you this tight?”

All Keith can manage is a choked moan as Lance rolls his hips, so that he’s deep inside of him. It’s slow and intense, tonight: Lance’s body is pressed against every inch of Keith, just like Keith likes it. 

Keith doesn’t make eye contact: eye contact is the enemy, and so is that damn rosary on Lance’s nightstand. Keith pushes it to the side with a shaking hand before shoving his face back in the pillow: it feels wrong, doing indecent,  _ dirty _ things like this under the watchful eye of God.

“I missed you,” Lance tells the sweat-slicked skin of Keith’s left shoulder. His mouth travels to his neck, to that place just underneath his ear that makes him tilt his head back and moan loudly.  “God, I missed you--”

The next thing Keith knows, Lance’s trembled behind him and thrusting deep into him, coming with a strangled, muted shout of his name. Keith comes thereafter. 

“Fuck,” Keith groans, “ _ Fuck-- _ next time, we’re doing this at my place.”

Lance pants above him, tying the condom off and flopping down next to him. 

“‘K,” he murmurs into Keith’s hair, “Whatever you want.”

 

They  _ do  _ end up meeting at Keith’s: to study, of all things. Lance stands before his door with an armful of books and a cup of boba in the other--  _ your favourite! _ he says with a grin-- and Keith wonders if he can do this anymore. 

_ I’m weak _ , he thinks as he catches himself staring at the profile of Lance’s face: at how his jawline is sharp and how he can spot faded marks next to fresh ones. 

How long had they been doing this? A week-- a month-- or  _ more _ ?

“You doin’ anything over Thanksgiving?” Lance asks. 

Keith blinks at him behind his glasses: he should really wear them more, he realises. He can see every detail of Lance this close. 

“I-- I’m going home.”

“Where’s that?”

“California.”

“Huh,” Lance says, “Cool.” 

He turns his attention back to his textbook. He’s not reading anything, he’s simply--  _ waiting. _

“Are--” Keith coughs. “Are you going home?”

“Yeah,” Lance replies, “Back to Florida.  _ God _ , my mom calls me every single  _ day _ , she’s really looking forward to this. I’m the first of my siblings to go out of state to college, so it’s kind of a big deal.”

Keith nods. He’s not good at conversation. Lance doesn’t seem to mind. He hums, and turns his attention back to the books before him, highlighting and reading until he loses his attention span and his knee starts bouncing. Keith bites at the inside of his mouth. 

_ You can’t get used to this- _ \- he tells himself--  _ you absolutely, one-hundred-percent, cannot get used to this. _

 

Friday night, they’re lying next to each other in Keith’s bed. Keith’s put a careful distance between them: they’re not touching or holding each other.

Keith rolls over. Lance is staring right back him.

“What?” he asks. It’s far too loud for the strange, fragile tenderness between them, Keith realises in hindsight.

“Nothing,” Lance replies in a small voice. He opens his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but then he closes it as if he’d decided against it. 

Neither of them turn away, and Lance keeps on staring. Keith can barely breathe. 

It’s then that he understands that he’s never really looked at Lance in detail in close before: he’d never appreciated how long his eyelashes were, or how smooth and even his skin was, how his hair pooled over the pillow, how long his fingers were and how perfectly the fit with Keith’s own. 

Keith can’t help himself: he reaches forward. With an index finger, he brushes a strand of hair from Lance’s face, trails it down to his jaw before resting his thumb against Lance’s lower lip. Lance opens his mouth and bites at it softly before licking it, kissing it. He smiles around it, eyes fixated on Keith and nothing but him. 

It’s mesmerising. Keith can’t look away, and he finally--  _ finally _ \-- understands the gravity of his situation. He wants to throw his arms around Lance and listen to him talk about his day, to make him laugh and press tiny kisses against his forehead and cheeks. He wants to fall asleep and know Lance’ll be there in his arms the next morning. 

He thinks he’s actually--  _ probably--  _ fallen in lo----

 

Lance is gone the next morning-- early lecture-- but things are different between them. 

Keith walks past Lance in a busy hallway, and Lance lets their fingers brush. Keith turns around and catches Lance grinning at him with a confident lopsided smile. He’s wearing a baseball cap backwards and is walking backwards, too, with one hand in his pocket. He waves at Keith. There’s a bounce in his step. 

Keith grits his teeth and turns away. His heart hurts. 

The next time they meet, things are different, too: Lance texts him, asking him whether he’s free, and next thing Keith knows, he’s standing in Lance’s dorm. They didn’t speak. Keith had simply stepped towards Lance and tugged at his shirt, and then they’re right back where they started: underneath the covers, bare legs sliding against one another. 

It’s different, though: there’s the slow slide of Lance’s lips across his chest, how his fingers skim across his navel and down his spine. He’s gentle and slow, and when he thrusts up into Keith, Keith can only gasp and arch his back and whisper Lance’s name. He winds his arms around Lance’s neck, holds him close, and hears a broken  _ Keith _ \--

Then Lance is trembling above him, and he swears he feels something wet against his ear. 

Later, when they’ve finished, Lance grins at him and runs a hand through his hair before falling asleep in his arms. Keith could have pressed his lips to Lance’s forehead and promised him everything would be alright, told him how  _ important  _ he was.

He doesn’t, but when Keith wakes up, Lance’s smiling at him, and that’s worth  _ everything _ .

“G’morning, sleeping beauty,” he says. There’s stubble on his chin, and his voice is low: just like the first time.  

“Are you calling me a princess?”

Keith tucks himself closer to Lance. He feels Lance’s chest vibrate against his chest as he laughs. 

“Maybe,” Lance murmurs. He toys with the ends of Keith’s hair, and rubs his other hand soothingly up and down Keith’s spine.

Keith feels at ease, and he could get used to this, he thinks: he probably already  _ has _ . 

Lance’s phone starts vibrating. Keith reaches behind him and hands it to Lance. Lance stares at the screen for a moment, then rolls onto his back and picks up. 

“Hi mom!” he says, “I--  _ fuck _ ,” Keith bites against Lance’s throat. “I didn’t swear, really, that was Keith,” Lance says. Keith grins. “Oh, Keith’s my boy-- friend. He’s my-- friend.”

Keith  _ cackles _ . Lance shoves his palm in his face.

“Yeah, he says hi, and--” There’s a pause, then,  _ “Mom! _ ” Lance hides his face in his hands and whines. “I’ll call you later, okay? Me estás  _ avergonzando _ ,” he groans, “Yeah, yeah: love you too.”

Lance hangs up, reaches over Keith and places his phone gingerly on his bedside table. 

“Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” Keith says. He means it. It’d always been Shiro and his father: their mother got sick and died a long time ago. “She seems-- nice.”

“She is,” Lance says. He runs his palms up against Keith’s lower back: fingers warm on cold skin. “She--  _ uh--  _ invited you over: for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Lance continues. His face is bright red, and he’s not meeting Keith’s gaze. “I-- I mean-- you don’t-- you don’t  _ have _ to come, if you don’t-- she thinks we’re  _ dating _ , since I talk-- I talk about you a lot----”

Lance stops. He ducks his head. 

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he finishes.

Keith can’t breath. 

“Do you… do you  _ want _ me to?”

“More than anything.”

Keith grins.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lance says, “I-- I really,  _ really _ like you, and I-- I should have probably talked to you, or something, and I-- I don’t know, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I can tell her the truth, but I just-- I  _ like  _ you, okay?” Lance’s eyebrows are drawn tightly together, and he almost looks in pain. Keith’s throat is dry.

“Okay,” he says.

Lance’s mouth drops to the floor and his eyes widen

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” he says, “I--  _ really _ ?”

“Yeah,” Keith answers. He feels delirious. “I like you too, Lance.”

Lance giggles-- he  _ giggles _ \-- and wraps his arms around Keith’s middle, hugging him tightly.

“Yeah-- I--  _ yeah _ !” he shouts. His smile is so bright it almost hurts to look at it, but Keith can’t tear his eyes away. He’s beautiful, and right here in his arms. Keith runs a hand through Lance’s hair and hugs him tightly to his chest. 

“ _ Wow _ , we’re the best looking couple on campus,” Lance sighs wistfully.

Keith laughs. His chest feels light, and his cheeks hurt from grinning so much. 

“Yeah,” he says, focusing on how soft Lance’s hair is, and how pretty his eyes are, “I’d like to think so.”

**Author's Note:**

> back at it again w/ the klance fwb!
> 
>  
> 
> yell at me on tumblr @ reminscees


End file.
